


Warmth

by adelaide_rain



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arthur the whore, Eames the knight, Facials, Fantasy, M/M, Somnophilia, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a knight of the North, and Mal's brothel is his favourite place to spend his coin. There are a number of beautiful men in her establishment and Eames has spent many a coin sampling their pleasures. </p><p>When she introduces him to her newest whore, Arthur, all the others are forgotten about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching Game of Thrones/reading A Song of Ice and Fire. I was inspired :D

The view from Castle Vilkas is bleak and beautiful. Although summer has only recently given way to autumn, this far north there is already snow on the ground. The forest that borders the town is dark and full of shadows, and men are hastily fortifying the wall that offers protection against hungry wolves and other, more sinister things.

Sir Eames pulls his cloak a little tighter and stands a respectful distance from the edge of the wall. The winds are deadly this high up, strong enough to push a man over the battlements to his death if he doesn’t take care. The chill, too, seeps into the bones and can freeze breath in the lungs.

Most knights of Eames’s stature stay far away from the northernmost castle and the borderlands it protects. Most of the boys that Eames trained with stayed in the South, where it is warmer and safer. Eames cares little for warmth or safety, but he places great value on freedom. Lord Fischer has no interest in what his men do in their free time, and that is what Eames values most of all.

His sigh is a white cloud in the air as he looks back to the forest beyond the wall. Draped in shadows, nothing moves save the leaves of the trees. It’s been quiet for weeks, and it’s making him restless. A storm is coming, he’s sure of it. A veteran of many battles, he can feel it like an ache in his bones. 

All the more reason to get his pleasure while he can.

“If anything happens, tell Sir Cobb immediately,” he tells the young guards who patrol the walls.

“Not you, sir?”

Eames flashes a grin at them. “I’m going to be otherwise engaged for the next few hours.”

===

The brothel is just off the town square, a few streets away for modesty’s sake.

There are other establishments in the town, but this is the one where Eames spends his coin. The others are bawdy and classless, but the woman who runs this place is more elegant than any lady of court, and runs her brothel along the same lines.

The snow has just started to fall again as Eames steps through the door, and he is grateful for the fire that roars in the hearth. After hanging his cloak, his gaze sweeps the room. It comes of being a knight; a soldier who does not mind his surroundings will not survive for long. With the bad weather the room is sparsely populated. The blacksmith sits near the fire with a young redhead in his lap; a couple of squires wait nervously in the corner – no doubt this is their first time here; a handful of other men sit near a window, drinking sturdy mugs of ale and laughing.

“It is good to see you, Sir Eames,” Mal says, sneaking up on him as usual. It is fortunate that she is not a warrior, for with her silent footsteps she would be the death of many a man.

“And it is _always_ good to see you,” Eames says, lifting her hand to his lips and planting a kiss.

“We have someone new that you will like,” she says, a smile dancing on her lips. 

“So sure of yourself,” Eames says, keeping his voice light and teasing, but the suggestion of _someone new_ heats his blood. It is rare that someone of Eames’s tastes comes to town.

One of the main reasons that he chooses to live in the North is that more unusual tastes are not frowned on so much here. Still Eames remains cautious; few know that his tastes fall to men rather than women.

Mal knows his tastes intimately – for that, after all, is her job – and if she says that he will like this new boy then he will. He pays her for an hour and then follows her up to the top floor of the house. It is dark up here, the only light from a single candlestick on the landing. Eames has always liked the anonymity that the shadows give him.

Mal knocks lightly on a dark wooden door and then swings it open. Eames has never been in this room before; as far as he knows it used to belong to the sweet girl with green eyes that sometimes pours ale downstairs. It is sparsely furnished, the main feature being the large bed.

The occupant immediately grabs Eames’s interest. He is slim, handsome, young. Probably not much younger than Eames, truly, but hard years of war make Eames forget his own youth. The man is well dressed, even for Mal’s brothel, and Eames wonders what his story is, how he found himself here.

“Arthur,” Mal says, calling the man over. He puts down the book he was reading – that he can read at all marks him as high born, and that he is reading a tome about politics is more evidence of an interesting past. Arthur’s walk is fluid and graceful, and the thought that he will soon be fucking this gorgeous creature makes Eames’s cock harden. “This is Sir Eames, a knight of Lord Fischer and a faithful patron. He would very much like to meet you.”

Arthur’s eyes are dark and they evaluate Eames for a handful of seconds before he smiles to reveal the most beautiful dimples.

“I am _very_ pleased to meet you, Sir Eames,” he says, and his voice is richly accented: a man of the West. Ever more curious.

“Not nearly as pleased as I am.”

“I will leave you to get acquainted,” Mal says with a smile and slips from the room.

“How can I help you today, Sir Knight?” Arthur asks, stepping forward and placing his hands on Eames’s chest. Eames thinks that he sees a flash of desire in Arthur’s eyes, but he knows better than to think that what he sees on a whore’s face is the truth.

“I only have an hour,” Eames says, stroking Arthur’s face. “More’s the pity. But I have an audience that I cannot keep waiting.”

“Then I’ll have to make your experience pleasant enough to ensure your return.”

“Oh, it already is,” Eames promises, and strokes his fingers gently through Arthur’s gently curling hair. “For tonight, I want your mouth on me.”

“Yes, Sir Knight,” Arthur says with another smile, sharper this time, and sinks to his knees. Eames’s trousers are unlaced in seconds and his cock pulled out. Arthur gazes at it, eyebrow raised, and he smiles up at Eames. “Impressive,” he says. “I’ve not met many men as big as you,” he says, stroking a finger from base to tip. “I’m almost glad that you don’t want to fuck me today; I’ll need time to prepare myself.”

“I’m sure you can take everything I can give you,” Eames says, smiling at Arthur’s words. Arthur is no blushing virgin, to be afraid of a huge cock; but then he is not pretending to be – there is relish in his eyes. He continues to stroke, every movement made with utter intent. For a moment Eames wonders if he was trained as a fighter, for he recognises that intensity; but then Arthur’s mouth is on him and all thoughts melt away.

Eames sucks in a breath; Arthur is _good_. His tongue explores Eames’s cock and balls like a man exploring a new land. The investigation reveals all of Eames’s sensitive spots, and Arthur pays them special attention. Soon Eames is breathing heavily, his fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair, and Arthur gives him no respite. Wrapping his lips around the head of Eames’s cock, Arthur looks up, his dark eyes meeting Eames’s. It is a beautiful sight, and Eames’s hips jerk forward, filling Arthur’s mouth with his cock. Arthur takes that as invitation and swallows him deeper, thrusting his mouth onto Eames again and again, until with a cry Eames spills his seed into Arthur’s mouth.

Staggering to the bed, Eames lies back and stares at the ceiling. Arthur curls up beside him, resting a hand on Eames’s stomach, and Eames smiles. Arthur is easily the best man in Mal’s brothel and one of the best Eames has ever had.

“You have yourself a repeat customer,” Eames says when he can speak again, and Arthur smiles.

“Excellent. I had fun tonight, Sir Eames.”

Eames quirks an eyebrow at him, and reaches between Arthur’s legs to squeeze his cock, hard beneath the cloth of his trousers. “You have felt no pleasure yourself.”

“I still had fun,” Arthur says with a filthy grin.

“Next time, you shall have even more fun,” he promises, and then pushes himself out of bed with a groan. “But for now, I must leave. I have a meeting with Lord Fischer and it won’t do to keep him waiting.”

“When can I see you again? I’ll make sure to be available.”

Eames grins at him. Although he has no doubt that Arthur’s mind is on his money, it’s still flattering. “I’ll return tomorrow evening after sunset. I will have more time for you then.”

“I look forward to it,” Arthur says, and Eames thinks he might actually mean it.

===

The next day is full of frustrations. It is made worse when his evening is dragged out, guarding Lord Fischer for hours longer than expected. The council meeting is like all council meetings: Lord Fischer arguing with his councillors and listening to none of them. By the time Eames is free, the sun has long since set and Mal’s place will be closed. 

Eames goes to his chambers and glowers at the wall. He tugs on his cock a few times before growling in frustration: his hand will not satisfy tonight, not when he was expecting the sweet tightness of Arthur’s arse. Pulling his heavy cloak over his shoulders, he stalks out of the castle. The brothel might be closed, but enough coin will overcome that inconvenience.

The door is locked but light spills through the gap in the curtains. When he raps on the door, Mal answers it with a wry smile.

“A little late for calls, Sir Eames,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “Arthur was upset when you did not visit him tonight.”

“I am here now.”

“But he is asleep, as are all my boys. Only I am awake, counting the taking for the day – a sad amount, without your coin.”

“Let me in and you’ll have it.”

“As I said, Arthur is asleep,” she says, sighing dramatically. “He waited for you, Sir, and waited some more, but everyone must sleep, even whores.”

She isn’t going to make it easy for him. Withdrawing his purse, he shakes it so that she can hear the coin it holds “I’m sure you will both sleep easier having made a little extra money.”

Mal gazes at the purse. “Arthur has worked hard today; I don’t want to wake him without good reason.”

“And how much will _good reason_ cost? I’ll give you double.”

“Triple,” Mal says with a wicked smile. “If I make the cost too low all my customers will be abusing the rules.”

Eames pauses, wincing at the price; but his cock is still hard and aching in his trousers, and that speaks louder than the loss of coin. He drops three silver pieces into her palm and she stands aside to let him in.

“Thank you, Sir Eames,” she says. “Always a pleasure. And now you may go and take _your_ pleasure.”

She starts to lead the way, but he shakes his head. “I can see myself to his chamber. With all that extra coin, it will take you a long time to count your takings.”

She laughs as she returns to her table and waves at the stairs. “Then go, Sir. Enjoy.”

When Eames swings Arthur’s door open, the only light is from outside, creeping around the edge of the curtains. It is the bright light of a snowy night, enough to show that Arthur is in his bed beneath furs and blankets. He is lying on his front, head resting on his arms so that Eames can see his profile, beautiful and so pale. From what Eames can see, Arthur is naked or at least topless, and Eames’s cock throbs at the sight of him. Arthur might even be worth the price Eames just paid.

Stripping quickly, silently, Eames grabs the vial of oil that sits on Arthur’s nightstand. Pulling back the sheets makes Arthur stir but not wake. It reveals that Arthur is fully naked, and the curve of his naked arse make hunger and heat crash through Eames. Sitting on the bed, Eames drips oil onto the fingers of one hand, and parts Arthur’s arse cheeks with the other. Arthur stirs again but still doesn’t wake, and Eames chuckles.

“After how much I paid for you, I’m going to fuck you whether you’re awake or not,” he says, and presses a finger into him. _That_ wakes him, his eyes flying open. He look panicked for a moment and tries to move away, but Eames pins him down and continues to finger him. “Now, now, Arthur, be a good boy.”

“Sir Eames?” Arthur stops struggling and looks over his shoulder, eyes wide. It takes a couple of seconds for him to control his expression, and knowing that he has surprised Arthur makes Eames smile. The man is so sure of himself that it pleases Eames to catch him off his guard.

“Indeed,” Eames says, sliding another finger into Arthur’s tight hole and making him whimper. “Mal tells me that you missed me this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Arthur gasps. “I waited for you.”

“And here I am. A little late, I know, but some extra coin persuaded Mal to let me see you. Does it feel good? A good way to wake?”

“Y-yes,” Arthur says, still slow with sleep, but he’s starting to stir under Eames’s ministrations, rising onto knees and elbows and pushing back onto Eames’s hand, taking his fingers deeper with a moan. “Your fingers are so thick inside me, Sir.”

“Just wait until you feel my cock,” Eames says, scissoring his fingers inside Arthur and making him whimper. Reaching around Arthur’s waist, he takes feel Arthur’s cock in hand, feels that he is half-hard and getting harder.

“I want to,” Arthur gasps. “I want it in me.”

“So eager,” Eames says, pleased, and pulls back so that he can coat his cock in oil. “Are you so eager with all your customers?”

“Only the handsome ones with huge cocks,” Arthur says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “How do you want me, Sir Eames? Like this? On my back, on my side…?”

“Like this,” Eames says, grabbing Arthur’s hips to hold him still, and presses his cock to Arthur’s arse. Without warning or hesitation he pushes in, making Arthur cry out and bite his forearm. Never before has Eames had a whore as beautiful, as eager or as seemingly genuine in his enthusiasm. He’s tight and hot and delicious, and yes, Arthur is worth every penny. “Bloody hell, Arthur. Gods you feel good.”

“You too,” Arthur gasps, both hands grabbing fistfuls of the bedsheets. “So good, so _big_.”

Each inch that Eames pushes in makes Arthur suck in a ragged breath. He hasn’t been stretched enough but Eames is impatient. It is just as well that Arthur was just sleeping; his relaxed body can take Eames’s girth more easily. Looking down and seeing Arthur’s hole so red and stretched around his cock makes Eames growl and lose his tenuous grip on control. He pushes the rest of the way into Arthur, shunting all the way in and making him scream, quickly burying his face in the pillow.

“Oh gods,” he sobs. “Please, Sir, please, please-”

“As pretty as you are when you’re begging, you have to tell me what you want,” Eames says. The way that Arthur is making aborted little movements back and forth, trying to get Eames to move, tells him as clearly as words, but Eames wants to hear him say it.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” Arthur says, words shaky and broken by sobs. “I want you to move, fuck me deep, please, please.”

And Eames does. He pulls almost all the way out and then back in again in one movement, until his hips are against Arthur’s arse. Again and again, Arthur crying out with each thrust, and those cries are nearly as good as his tight little hole. Between his sobs, Arthur whimpers _more_ and _please_ and _yes yes yes_ , and he _means_ it, he loves being skewered on Eames’s cock. Some men do not care if their whore doesn’t enjoy their job. If they don’t, that won’t stop Eames from getting what he’s paid for; but knowing that they _do_ , hearing them beg for more, is glorious.

With that, and with how tight Arthur is, Eames doesn’t know how long he can last. He wants Arthur to come first, and reaches around to tug on his cock. To his surprise and delight he only needs three strokes and then Arthur is coming, as noisy as he’s been all through this. The way that his arse tightens as he comes almost pushes Eames over the edge, but he digs his fingers into Arthur’s hips and manages to hold on. After a pause he starts again, holding Arthur’s sticky, limp cock in his hand as he fucks him. Arthur continues to whimper, making weak little gestures, trying to push back onto Eames.

And then Eames comes with a roar, deep inside Arthur.

Collapsing on top of him, softening cock still buried in his arse, Eames breathes hard, trying to regain the ability to think clearly. The climax was intense and scatted his senses. For a good few moments all Eames can think is _I want more, I want to fuck him again_ , but his body is having none of it. His cock slips from Arthur’s body and Eames sighs, rolling onto his back. 

“Was that good, Sir Eames?” There’s a note of uncertainty in Arthur’s voice, and Eames gives him a tired smile, stroking his cheek with a thumb. 

“It was indeed, Arthur. You are definitely deserving of my coin, even the amount I paid tonight.”

“Mal made you pay more?”

“She did. Triple.”

“You paid triple for me,” Arthur says, startled, and in the moonlight Eames can see that his eyes are wide. 

“I did,” Eames says. “And you were worth it. Though gods only know how I’m going to get back to my chambers now that you’ve exhausted me.”

Arthur pauses, and Eames sees that uncertainty flicker over his face once more, and then it is replaced by a smile, as confident as it is fake. “You could stay,” Arthur suggests. “If you’ve paid so much, I’m sure Mal wouldn’t mind. And I certainly wouldn’t mind a warm body in my bed – I’m not used to these Northern winters.”

“Winter is coming but it’s not here yet,” Eames says, and decides that Arthur is right. For that much coin he deserves a bed as well as a fuck. As Arthur cleans himself up with a piece of cloth from his nightstand, Eames smiles, half amused and half aroused. Seeing his own come drip down Arthur’s pale thighs is truly a beautiful sight, and one that he intends to be frequent. 

When Arthur has cleaned himself to his satisfaction, he lies down beside Eames and pulls up the blankets and furs. As the fire in his blood cools, Eames is grateful for them; winter _is_ coming, and he too is grateful for the warmth of a bedmate. 

Sliding his arm over Arthur’s waist, he receives a sleepy smile. “Sweet dreams, Sir,” he says, and his eyes flutter shut. 

Before Eames joins him in sleep, he wonders once more about Arthur’s past. A man from the West; who can read; who is interested in politics. Arthur is full of mysteries, and Eames wants to unravel them. 

_He’s just a whore,_ Eames tells himself sternly, and closes his eyes. 

As he drifts off to sleep, a thought slides into his mind, sure as steel: _No, he’s not._


	2. Chapter 2

There is someone in Eames’s bed.

It has been too long since Eames woke with someone by his side. Opening his eyes he sees that Arthur is still asleep, the morning light that creeps around the edges of the curtains painting his skin palest gold. Eames lies still for a moment, cock hardening as his gaze roams Arthur’s bare torso. Silver scars mar his skin but they do nothing to mar his beauty. Lying against the dark blankets, he looks like a statue and Eames reaches out to touch him to be sure that he is warm flesh and blood. 

At Eames’s touch Arthur wakes, blinking at him before his lips curve into a smile heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, Sir Eames,” he says, stretching luxuriously in such a way that it emphasises how slender he is. Eames is sure that he is doing it on purpose. “It is rare that I wake with a man by my side. It's only happened a handful of times and not one of them was even half as handsome as you.”

The compliment makes Eames smile and wonder if he means it. “And did any of them make you scream like I did?”

“No, Sir,” Arthur says, and his smile turns wicked. “Nor did any of them feel so good inside me.”

“Perhaps you would like to feel it again?”

“There is no _perhaps_ about it,” Arthur says, and pushes the blankets away to show his cock already standing proud.

“So I see,” Eames says, reaching for it and stroking gently. Arthur lets out a long, shaky breath. 

“That feels good,” he whispers.

“I want to make you scream again,” Eames says, tightening his grip enough to make Arthur grunt. “This time I want to see your face when you come.”

“Yes,” Arthur says, bucking into Eames's hand. Eames leans over him to bite gently at his collarbone. The bites become less gentle as Arthur continues to moan and writhe under him, the sweet sounds he makes setting Eames’s blood afire.

A soft cough breaks into their moment and Eames turns to see Mal watching them. She is leaning against the doorframe and Eames wonders how long she has been there. His purse is in her hand, taken from the belt he had dropped so eagerly the night before. 

“You have to pay for that,” she says, nodding towards Arthur. She takes two silver coins from it and says, “One for Arthur, and one for the night spent in his bed.”

“I paid three silver last night,” Eames says, annoyed at the interruption more than the additional charge, though another two silver is not an easy loss. “Isn't that enough?”

“We agreed that payment was to take Arthur last night.” She pauses then gives Eames a gracious smile. “Since you are such a valued customer, I'll let you have breakfast and ale as well - when you're done, of course.”

She leaves them alone, taking his coin with her.

Eames frowns but when Arthur takes his cock in hand all thoughts of Mal vanish.

“What would you like, Sir Eames? Since you've paid, you can have anything you like.”

“And what could I have had before I paid?”

“Anything you liked,” Arthur says with a touch of sadness. Eames sweeps his thumb across Arthur's lips, and Arthur kisses it. Such an odd gesture from a whore, but no more odd than the heaviness in Eames’s heart at Arthur’s sadness.

“What would _you_ like?” Eames asks, curiosity getting the better of him. “Honestly.”

“Your cock in me,” Arthur says immediately, with a smile that shows off his dimples and banishes his sadness. “I want you to stretch me so that I will be reminded of you with every movement for the rest of the day.”

“Marvellous idea,” Eames says, reaching for the jar of oil. He likes the idea of being the only one that Arthur can think of, whoever else pays for his services.

After applying the oil liberally, he presses slick fingers into Arthur and makes him moan. Taking his time to ease Arthur open, Eames pays attention to the different noises that Arthur makes. Curling his fingers makes Arthur give a long moan; thrusting deep and hard makes for yelps; four fingers and Arthur gives a sob and arches his back.

However much he loves making Arthur cry out, there is only so long that Eames can neglect his own cock. Slicking it up he eases slowly into Arthur’s body, taking his time and enjoying every inch. Having paid so much, he has every intention of savouring this. Soon Arthur is trying to move, to increase the speed of Eames’s thrusts, but Eames has no intention of letting him have control. He holds Arthur still, thumbs digging into his hips hard enough so that they will bruise; that will give Arthur something else to remember Eames by.

“No, darling,” he says with a smile. “You move when I tell you to. I’m not paying you to be in charge - though I might one day.”

“Sorry, Sir Eames. It’s just that it feels so good – I want more.”

“You’ll get it,” Eames promises, pulling all the way out of Arthur and then back in, hard. Arthur cries out and his pale fingers tangle in his dark curls. “You’ll get everything, every inch of me. And you’ll like it.”

“I do like it, gods I do,” Arthur groans, crying out every time Eames thrusts into him all the way to the hilt. “So _big_ , gods, more, please.”

Arthur is so tight and his begging for more too sweet; Eames cannot resist. His resolution to take his time with this crumbles.

“Come for me,” Eames commands, guiding Arthur’s hand to his own cock. “Stroke yourself while I fuck you and let’s see how pretty you look while you’re coming.”

Arthur is breathing hard and nods eagerly, fingers wrapping around his shaft. Watching him touch himself is a beautiful sight but not nearly so beautiful as watching him come, face red and mouth open, making broken little noises as pearly strands spurt from his cock to decorate his belly and chest. Eames growls and fucks him hard enough that Arthur’s head hits the headboard. Eames holds on for as long as he can, which isn’t long at all. He comes with a growl, buried in Arthur, fingers digging into his hips harder still and making him cry out, his voice entwining with Eames’s.

For a long moment all Eames can do is suck in gulps of air as his body shakes with pleasure. Finally catching his breath, he pushes up onto his forearms. Gazing down at the state Arthur is in, bruised and covered in come, he decides that next time he will come in Arthur’s face and make a pretty little mess of him.

Arthur still looks dazed, smiling crookedly and running his fingers hungrily over Eames’s chest and abdomen. “You are a wonder, Sir Eames. Your cock is truly magnificent. “

“That I know,” Eames says. “Let me assure you that you will become very acquainted with it.”

“I look forward to it.” 

===

The Knights of the Towers meet in a cavernous room in the largest tower of the castle. It is directly under Lord Fischer's chambers as a reminder that the knights serve under him.

The round walls are decorated with banners for every knight that has ever served at Castle Vilkas, hundreds of them, a menagerie of golden griffins and grey wolves, silver snakes and bronze ravens. One even bears the white lion of the Eames crest, belonging to a great- uncle exiled to the north after being found abed with a man and disgracing his family.

_You and I both, nuncle._

It is a place heavy with the weight of the past, and like Eames’s own family history not all of it is something to be proud of. The oak shelves by the side of the room are full books about and by those knights. When Eames first arrived in the north he read those books eagerly and was disappointed to find that half of them were written by knights who were bigger fools that the court jester.

At least the men that sit around the table today are passing fair. Sir Robert, Lord Fischer's son, is as green as spring but has a good heart and has proven his bravery in all two of the battles in which he’s fought.

The Knight of Numbers is a northerner through and through, gruff and brutal and loyal. He fights well enough to more than make up for Robert's inexperience. While he is no tactician, his skills with the halberd and the war hammer are unparalleled, and he is a good drinking companion besides.

And then there is Sir Cobb, their commander. He is intelligent, a master strategist, skilled with many weapons, yet Eames has no love for him. His arrogance and risk-taking edge into recklessness at times, and at all times his own wants are at the forefront of his mind. As much as Eames holds ideas like honour and duty at arm’s length, he at least remembers that they are supposed to be the foundation of knighthood. Sometimes he wonders if Cobb does.

A map of the realm is spread out on the table, from the South of Eames's birth to Castle Vilkas in the North. The edges are taken up by the West, the North of North, and Vallura to the east.

For twenty long minutes Cobb has been talking and Eames stopped listening after five. Cobb likes to talk about rumours of treachery in the City of the Crown, far to the south. It is of scant little of interest for those who live in the North.

Having heard the words so many times, Eames allows his thoughts to drift to Arthur. It has been only two weeks since their first meeting and Eames has been to him seven times. Usually his visits to Mal’s place are twice a month. _If I don’t rein myself in I shall become a pauper._ And yet when Eames thinks of Arthur’s dark curls, wicked smile and perfect arse, he decides it would be worth it.

“Is there something on your mind, Eames?”

Eames looks up, having been absentmindedly gazing at the map while his thoughts were full of Arthur. “Not at all, Sir Cobb. The comings and goings of serving wenches hundreds of miles away have always fascinated me.”

Cobb squints at him. “Not just any serving wench, Eames. This woman is an advisor to the rebels. She-“

“She's rumoured to be the rebel leader's right hand man, keeping him in line and improving all of his plans. She is what has brought the rebellion from being a gnat nipping at the crown's toes to a rabid dog. And it's growing. In time it might become a dragon that devours us all.” Eames pauses. “Or at least, I think that's what you were talking about; I wasn't paying attention.”

The chuckles from his fellow knights are worth the glare from Cobb. He might be their leader but none of them like him much.

“Well,” Cobb says. “That's most of it. Lord Fischer is more concerned with activity to the north of the forest.”

“More precisely he said the south could go bugger itself,” the Knight of Numbers says in his rough brogue, then turns to Eames with a grin. “I hear buggery is your speciality, Sir Eames.”

“Everything is my speciality,” Eames snaps, in no mood for the teasing. He may not care for events in the South but the North of North is far closer to home, too close for comfort. “What concerns Lord Fischer, Cobb?”

“The mages have been giving warnings all summer, saying that they've seen a great evil sweeping over us as winter comes.”

“There’s been nothing from the North of North for decades,” the Knight of Numbers says dismissively. “The men up there are dead or have worries of their own. All we need to worry about are hungry wolves.”

“My great-uncle wrote that the men from the North of North _are_ wolves,” Eames says, gesturing at the oaken shelves where his uncle’s book is one of the few written by someone with sense. 

“Folly and fairytales,” the Knight of Numbers says, rolling his eyes. “For the love of the gods, _men who are wolves_? No doubt he meant that their crests bear wolves, nothing more.”

“Whatever they are,” Cobb interrupts, “We don’t know if it’s them that we need concern ourselves with, or actual wolves - or nothing at all, which is Lord Fischer’s opinion. You know how little stock he puts in mages. Even so, he’s asked me to send out a scout party. When they return I'll call another meeting. Until then remind your men to be vigilant.”

As they are dismissed, Eames’s thoughts are dark. Lord Fischer might not put much stock in the mages but most others do, Eames included. In the South mages are nothing more than tricksters and entertainers, but they are different in the North. In the five years that Eames has lived here he has seen their predictions come true time and again. It is said that the forest and the stars fuel their magic, which sounds like nonsense but what does Eames know of sorcery?

Eames steps out into the courtyard with Sir Robert and the Knight of Numbers. Snow is falling and there is a light dusting on the ground. With so many people rushing about their work it will turn to slush in no time, but if it continues overnight the world will be white tomorrow.

“Do you really think the mages mean that the North of North will attack?” Sir Robert asks, tugging his cloak more tightly around him against the snow.

“Who knows what they mean? The mages never tell it straight,” the Knight of Numbers says, which is true. As much as the predictions of trouble are always right, they are never specific. “It’s always shadowy foreboding. They just like being bloody mysterious.”

“Their shadowy foreboding is usually accurate though,” Eames points out. 

“Aye,” the Knight of Numbers agrees. “That they are.” He looks sidelong at Eames and grins. “I still think you’re a fool with that man-wolf talk.”

“I’m a fool for many more reasons than that,” Eames says, watching Cobb cross the yard toward the gate. He’ll be going to Mal; he’s been courting her for months. Although Eames wants to go to Arthur, he can wait another ten minutes if it means avoiding Cobb. 

Excusing himself, he goes to the battlements to check on his men. They have already heard of the scout party and are hoping to be picked.

“I wouldn't be so eager if I were you,” Eames says. “So close to winter, you might not come back.”

When he judges it is safe, he leaves the men to their excitement and makes his way over to the brothel. As he had hoped, Cobb has already arrived and whisked Mal away to seclusion.

Eames is surprised to see Yusuf sitting near the doorway. The man is a maker of potions - illegal ones more often than not - and keeps a low profile. Usually he can be found in Mal's basement brewing amber liquids to induce waking dreams and more besides. It's said that there is not much that Yusuf cannot brew, given the right incentive. The right incentive is usually gold, though he has been known to accept precious jewels, silver, and good baking.

“Good evening,” Yusuf says with a smile that Eames returns warmly; Yusuf is one of the few men in this town that Eames calls friend. “It is good to see you.”

“And you, though it's something of a surprise to see you out of your den.”

“Mal asked me to watch the door for her, and I am always happy to help my lovely landlady.”

“I'm guessing that the coin she promised went a long way to encourage your helpfulness.”

“Of course,” Yusuf says. Eames chuckles. He has always liked how unapologetic Yusuf is; it is one of the reasons that they are friends. “And who are you wishing to see tonight?”

As if there is any question.

Paying his silver, Eames makes his way up to the top floor. Arthur opens the door at his knock and his expression is surprised and pleased.

“Sir Eames,” he says, standing aside to let Eames into the chamber. “I'm very pleased to see you again. I was afraid that you might have overspent your budget.”

“I’ll always find more coin for a creature as lovely as you.”

Arthur looks especially pleasant today, with his hair loose and falling to his shoulders, a dark blue tunic that fits his form well and a pair of breeches that hug his slender calves lovingly.

“You flatter me,” Arthur says, smiling and looking genuinely pleased with the compliment. “What is your coin buying you today?”

“An hour,” Eames says, as he paces the room. “Now what to do with that hour...”

He pauses as he passes the bed. Upon the sheets lies a heavy book bound in red leather, evidently the afternoon’s reading.

“ _A List of Leaders, Being a History of the Kings of Anwalda, and the Rulers of the West Since the Secession, and Other Noted Leaders of Factions Great and Small_ ,” Eames reads, then drops it to the bed with a thud. “Sounds fascinating.”

Arthur smiles and picks up the book to put it with the others in his small collection. “I wanted to read of both my old home and my new one,” he says. “I’ll admit that it is not the most readable of books.”

“There must be dozens of books on the history of our two countries,” Eames says. “Did you go out of your way to choose the most tedious? Perhaps you need help sleeping?”

Arthur smiles his most wicked smile, and as he steps toward Eames all thoughts of teasing vanish. “If I want to sleep so early in the day, it could only be in the hope that you will wake me in the same way as that first time.”

“You liked being woken in that way?”

“My most favourite way,” Arthur says, stroking his hands down Eames’s torso and pausing over his nipples to squeeze them through his tunic. Eames grins and returns the gesture by reaching between their bodies to cup Arthur’s manhood. He is already hard and gasps as Eames squeezes him. Arthur grabs at Eames’s shoulders as he begins to stroke him firmly.

Eames watches him carefully, enjoying every one of his reactions: the way his eyes flutter shut, and his pretty mouth works silently, save for the gasps and cries that Eames’s ministrations coax from him. A wash of pink already stains his face, and his breathing grows heavy.

“You look delicious,” Eames says, his voice deep and gruff. The words spark an idea, one that instantly catches fire in his imagination and refuses to be extinguished. Grabbing Arthur’s shoulders he directs him to the leather chair by the window and pushes him roughly into it.

“Sir Eames?” Arthur looks up at him with eyes that are already clouded with lust.

“You look delicious,” Eames says again. “And I want to find out if you are.” Deftly he strips Arthur of his breeches and tunic, casting them carelessly aside. Arthur’s cock is hard and pink, standing proudly from a thatch of dark curls. “Sit still,” Eames commands, and darts out his tongue to taste the bead of clear liquid already leaking from Arthur’s cock.

“You- you mean to pleasure me with your mouth?” Arthur asks, his words breathless.

In answer Eames wraps his lips around the head of his cock, and one of Arthur’s hands flies to his mouth to muffle his cries.

“No,” Eames says, pulling away so that he can put Arthur’s hand on the arms of the chair. “Keep them there. I want to hear how loud you scream when you come in my mouth.”

Arthur stares down at him and a delighted smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “Truly, Sir?”

“Truly,” Eames says, then lowers his head to slide his tongue across the slit of Arthur’s cock.

For his part, Arthur does what he is told. As Eames eagerly licks and sucks him, enjoying the waste of him and the weight of the cock on his tongue, Arthur’s fingers tighten on the arms on the chair but stay where Eames put them.

And he does not restrain his voice. Whether he has noticed how much Eames likes to hear his cries or he is naturally loud during sex, Eames does not know. If he were to place a wager it would be on Arthur liking to cry out his pleasure, but he would not bet more than a few copper pennies. Eames is a master of reading people but he knows better than to believe that the face a whore shows to the world is his real one.

“Oh gods,” Arthur cries brokenly. “Gods, that’s good, _fuck_ yes.” The last syllable edges out into a hiss when Eames swallows, taking the whole of Arthur’s length into his throat. Arthur continues to whimper and moan, and Eames takes advantage of his open mouth and shoves his fingers between his lips. Still moaning, Arthur suckles the fingers hungrily and Eames’s cock throbs.

Pushing Arthur’s thighs apart even further, Eames pulls his hand away and smiles at Arthur’s disappointed moan. It turns into a loud cry as Eames pushes the spit-slick fingers into Arthur’s arse. With a choked yell, Arthur is coming, spilling his seed on Eames’s tongue as his muscles clench around his fingers.

When Eames pulls away Arthur is shaking. He smiles down at Eames and gives a broken little laugh.

“Sir Eames, you must be a dream. Your mouth is too good to be real.”

“It is very real, I assure you. _A mouth made for sin_ , my first lover told me.”

“It is indeed,” Arthur says. “As is mine – and I will show you, once I remember how to breathe.”

Eames laughs and runs his fingers through Arthur's soft curls, feeling fond. Slowly Arthur’s breathing slows to normal and he sits up.

“I’m going to take you in my mouth,” Arthur says, desire heating his smile. “I want to feel you in my throat, choking me.”

“Do you now,” Eames says, only too willing to give into Arthur’s wishes.

Rising, he pulls Arthur to his feet and takes his place in the chair. Arthur kneels between his legs and runs a hand over the bulge in Eames’s breeches. Even that slight touch makes Eames draw in a breath. Satisfying Arthur meant that his own pleasure has been delayed, but fortunately Arthur wastes no time. Unlacing the breeches and pulling out Eames’s cock, he starts to lick and suck immediately. Eames draws in a breath between his teeth. Tasting Arthur’s seed brought him close enough to the edge and he is not likely to last long.

It takes only short minutes before Eames feels his pleasure building to a crescendo, and he grabs a fistful of Arthur’s hair, pulling him back so that his seed spills on Arthur’s cheeks and lips and hair, a decoration more lovely than any jewellery.

For a long moment it is all Eames can do to stare down at Arthur, enjoying the mess he has made of him.

“You’re beautiful,” Eames croaks, staring down at him.

“It is your seed that makes me beautiful,” Arthur says, licking off that which fell on his lips.

“No,” Eames says, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair. "You are always beautiful."

Arthur smiles up at him, flashing dimples. "Are you feeling sentimental today, Sir Eames?"

"Perhaps I am," Eames says. "I must be getting old. Can you forgive an old man?"

Arthur laughs and there is sweetness in his smile. “I am rapidly growing to think that I would forgive you most anything, Sir Eames.”

_Arthur is as big a fool as I am_ , Eames thinks. And perhaps that is not such a bad thing.

Stroking Arthur's cheek and smearing the come that lies there, he guides it to Arthur's lips. He laps at it hungrily. If Eames were not thoroughly exhausted he would bend Arthur over the chair and fill his arse with come as well. Instead he lets Arthur wash him clean and then returns the favour, startling Arthur and making him smile.

When they are both dressed, Eames turns to leave but pauses at the door. Looking back, he sees that Arthur is smiling at him, warm and sweet. It makes Eames’s chest feel tight and suddenly he is struck by the desire to kiss him. It’s a foolish thought; a man does not kiss his whore. It’s not forbidden or illegal, just not _done_. Instead he steps back to Arthur and strokes his cheek, smiling when Arthur leans into his touch.

“Come back soon, Sir Eames.”

“I will,” Eames promises, and leaves before the urge to kiss him gets too strong.

_What am I coming to?_


	3. Chapter 3

Sir Cobb's scouts return ten days later.

When Cobb calls a meeting, not just of the knights but of the commanders of the town guard, Eames knows that the news is not good.

The commanders sit uneasily in their chairs. They are not used to being in the castle; they prefer the cold winds of the town walls, and view the knights as pampered boys who’ve never worked a hard day in their lives. Even the banners that decorate the walls are eyed suspiciously. Some of the older banners belong to families whose reputation has been tarnished since they served Lord Fischer; others belong to soft Southern families that deserve only contempt, Eames’s own included.

The awkward silence is brokenly only by the Knight of Numbers making jests that draw no laughter. Soon that too fades and the only sound is the crackling of the fire in the great stone hearth.

Eventually Cobb arrives, a frown creasing his brow. He calls for quiet in the silent room.

"As you all know, my patrol returned yesterday. They had nothing to report; all is quiet."

"Too quiet," the commander of the northern wall says gruffly. "We should be seeing hungry bears and wolves but there has been nothing."

"I know," Cobb says. "And that alone suggests that there _is_ something, something my men didn’t find. Until we discover what that is, I'm doubling the patrols on the town walls."

"The men won't be pleased about that," the commander of the south wall says. "They already bitch and moan about being overworked."

"Be that as it may, I want the patrols."

"They should be grateful for the extra coin," the Knight of Numbers says with a grin. "They'll be able to afford a little more wine and a whore to warm their bed as the cold sets in."

"And so will you,” Cobb says. “I'm doubling your duties as well."

A cry goes up amongst the knights but even as Eames adds his voice he knows that there is no use. There is something fell in the forest. He much prefers a little toil than being taken unawares by whatever evil the mages are prophesying.

As the meeting comes to a close, Eames ducks out quickly while Cobb is busy with complaints from commanders and knights both. If his increased duties are to begin tomorrow then he must see Arthur while he still can.

Snow is falling as he steps outside. It has been snowing every day of late and it is heaped in every corner of the courtyard like white shadows.

As he crosses the town he sees how hurried the folk are as the weight of winter begins to make itself felt. Prices are starting to creep up in the marketplace and the haggling is loud as he passes the stalls, a cacophony of barter.

Stepping into Mal's place is a welcome respite from both the cold and the noise. Eames shrugs out of his cloak and moves to the fire to warm his hands. One of his men-at-arms sits by the hearth with a pretty blonde whore feeding him berries. The man-at-arms smiles at Eames, unworried at being caught whoring, and Eames returns the smile. He trusts his men implicitly, chose every one of them himself. That Eames is a frequent visitor to Mal's place is no secret; the only thing he keeps hidden is that he visits men.

_Although it is only one man these days._

Mal enters the room from a door beside the bar that leads to her private rooms. The blonde woman leads the man-at-arms upstairs, leaving Eames alone with Mal. 

"Hello, Sir Eames," Mal says as she approaches. "It is very good to see you again. I do fear that your coin will run out soon, with the frequency that you see your favourite boy."

 _He's not a boy,_ Eames almost snaps and is startled by himself. 

"No need to worry," Eames says, slipping her an easy, false smile. "Sir Cobb is doubling our duties so I will have coin enough, though not the time I would like."

Mal's face falls at hearing of the increased duties, though Eames is sure it is more for the decrease in Cobb's availability than the decrease in Eames's coin. What a woman like her sees in Cobb he has no idea. "Then I suppose you should go to Arthur now. How long would you like?"

"How long can I have him?"

"His next appointment is in three hours."

Eames pauses, thinking of his dwindling coin, measuring it against how long it might be until he can see Arthur again. "Then that is how long I will take," Eames says before he can change his mind, pressing the payment into her hands.

Climbing up to Arthur's room, Eames hears a woman's voice crying out in pleasure, and he starts to take two steps at a time. When Arthur opens his door, Eames sees his smile and then pushes him to the bed.

"Clothes off," he commands, stripping quickly so that he can watch Arthur remove his clothes, treating Eames to a smile with each item he drops to the floor.

"It is good to see you, Sir Eames," Arthur says when he is topless. "And it seems like you think it is good to see me," he adds, crawling across the bed to stroke Eames's achingly hard cock.

With a grunt Eames, pushes Arthur back onto the bed. "I said naked."

"Yes, Sir," Arthur says and the rest of the clothes come off quickly. Eames stares at him, drinking in every pale inch of him. "And what would you like now that you have me the way you want me?"

"I don't have you the way I want you; my cock isn't in you yet." 

"Then we should do something about that," Arthur says, the desire in his eyes echoed by the hardness of his own cock. "Take me, Sir."

Eames responds by roughly pushing Arthur onto his back. Clambering onto the bed beside him, Eames hooks Arthur’s legs over his shoulders and runs his hands down those pale, strong thighs.

“The oil,” Eames commands, and Arthur twists to pick it up, handing it over then lying back again to look up at Eames with an expectant smile. Without preamble, Eames drips oil onto his fingers and then thrusts two slick fingers into Arthur.

Arthur's back arches up from the bed and he cries out at the rough stretching.

"Oh gods," he moans, hands grasping feebly at the sheets. 

"Do you dislike it?"

Arthur grins, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes. “I like it very much, Sir Eames. I like anything you are willing to give me.”

“I will give you everything,” Eames promises.

As Eames continues to thrust his fingers into Arthur it is like a hunger comes over him, one that only Arthur can sate.

"Fuck me, please, I need you in me," Arthur begs and Eames grabs a handful of his hair, yanking Arthur's head back so that he can bite at his neck. Arthur continues to moan, hands grasping at Eames’s shoulders.

"You do, don't you?" Eames growls between bites. "You love being fucked by me."

"No-one else fills me up the way you do."

“Good,” Eames says, oiling up his cock and pushing it into Arthur’s arse. Arthur wails as Eames fucks him, hard and merciless, his hips bucking up eagerly to meet Eames’s. 

The sex tonight is a rough thing. Sometimes their couplings are teasing and playful but mostly it is this, wild and hard and animalistic. Arthur cries out and sobs but he loves it, as evidenced when he comes just from being fucked, without a single stroke of his cock. That is more than enough for Eames, who comes inside Arthur with a roar. His hips continue to stutter against Arthur’s, wringing every last piece of pleasure from this. 

Finally he collapses onto the bed, pulling Arthur roughly to him, heedless of the mess of come and sweat between them. When Eames finally eases his grip, Arthur, ever fastidious, reaches for his tunic so that he can clean them. Quickly he returns to Eames’s side, pulling the blankets over them. 

“It is so cold here,” he grumbles. “And you say winter isn’t here yet.”

“It’s close now,” Eames says. “It’s getting colder and the snows are more frequent.”

“Last year I was in the City of the Crown,” Arthur says. “The weather there wasn’t nearly so bad.”

“It doesn’t get so cold in the South. Snow is rare there; here we measure snow in feet, not inches.”

Arthur sighs. “I suppose I will find that out for myself.”

“Why did you come North?” Eames asks, stroking Arthur’s hair.

“Because the South is too busy and crowded with people as false as their gems,” Arthur says with a shrug, then his eyes widen. “Or at least the City of the Crown is. I’m sure your family’s lands are much nicer.”

Eames laughs. “An excellent description of that godsforsaken place – the Eames lands as much as the City. Though I wonder how you know I’m from the South.” 

“Your accent – and Yusuf told me.”

“Of course he did. Did you bribe him or did he blurt out all of my secrets with no incentive?”

“He may have been a little drunk,” Arthur admits, then treats Eames to a flash of dimples. “But he did not reveal _all_ your secrets. Since I’ve told you one of mine, will you share one with me?”

Eames pauses before answering. He is getting too close to Arthur and he knows he is, yet he cannot summon much restraint.

“Perhaps. What do you want to know?”

“The same question: why did _you_ come North?”

“The only reason I stayed in the South for as long as I did was because of my brother. He’s the only member of my family that I actually like. So when he moved to the West with his wife I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“Your brother lives in the West?” Arthur’s brow rises.

“Perhaps it is because we are twins that we share a fascination with the people of the West,” Eames smirks.

“Twins…” Arthur frowns, stroking Eames’s stomach as he thinks. “Back home, twins are thought to be good fortune, but I hear that on these shores the opposite is true.”

“Yes,” Eames says. “We’re terrible bad luck. Or so the superstition goes, and that’s certainly the opinion of my lord father. He already had an heir, my strong but uninspired older brother. A daughter too, to marry to some other lord and cement alliances. And then along came Tom and I, unexpected and unwanted. He even went as far as to accuse our mother of bedding another man – anything to be rid of us. I hear that when we moved away our father gave a great gift of gold to the gods to thank them, the first time he’d been to the temple in two decades.”

“So you came North to be away from him?”

“That, and I was following in the footsteps of my great-uncle, my second favourite family member. Not that I ever met him but I think I prefer my family that way. He was chased up here for sleeping with men. I rather admire him.”

Arthur laughs and snuggles closer to Eames. “So do I. After all, if he didn’t inspire you to move here, we might never have met.”

“Very true, and wouldn’t that be awful?”

“It would,” Arthur says, his voice muffled by Eames’s chest.

They lay there a while, and Eames dozes until Arthur moves, pushing himself up. 

"How long do I have you, Sir Eames?"

"Three hours," Eames says, smothering a yawn. "I will be working long hours after today; it may be a long while until I can return."

Arthur's face falls, and he touches Eames's jaw lightly. "This news saddens me, Sir."

"Not so much as it saddens me," Eames says, in a grumbling way that has his intended effect of making Arthur laugh. 

For a moment Arthur pauses, looking thoughtful; and then a wicked smile curves his lips.

“If I’m not to see you for a while, you should fuck me again,” Arthur says, throwing a leg over Eames’s hips so that he is straddling him. Their cocks nudge one another; Arthur is already half-hard again and the touch makes Eames’s own cock twitch. Arthur’s hand wraps around both of their shafts and strokes them into hardness.

“You are insatiable.”

“For you I am.”

“If you are so hungry for me, ride me,” Eames says. “Force every inch of my cock inside you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Arthur says with a smile, and picks up the oil to coat Eames’s cock once more.

“Are you still stretched? Or are you sore?” Eames asks, and slides his hand around Arthur’s waist, slipping a finger inside to see that Arthur is still stretched, and from the broken sound he made when Eames pushed his finger in, he is indeed sore.

“I want you, Sir Eames,” Arthur pants, biting his lip as Eames adds another finger into him. “I don’t care if I’m sore. I _want_ you.”

“Then take me inside you,” Eames tells him. “All the way.”

Arthur nods and positions himself so that the tip of Eames’s cock presses against his hole. Wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft, Eames holds himself steady. Slick as he is, stretched as Arthur is, the beginning is easy enough, but by the time the head of Eames’s cock is in Arthur, the girth is already enough to make Arthur mewl.

“Oh gods,” he whispers. “Oh gods, oh gods.” He pushes his hips down further, taking Eames inside him in slow little increments. It’s easier this time than it was earlier, but Arthur is still tight around Eames’s cock and he moans with every inch. Rocking his hips, he soon has the entirety of Eames’s cock inside him, and he feels incredible. Eames puts his hands on Arthur’s hips to hold him still for a moment so that he can relish in the feeling of Arthur so tight and hot around him. Arthur puts a shaking hand to his mouth – all of him is shaking, Eames can feel it where they are joined. “Is that good?” Eames asks, as Arthur tries feebly to move.

“Yes,” Arthur moans. “So _deep_.”

“And do you like it deep?”

“Gods, _yes_.” Arthur’s eyes open half-mast and he gazes down at Eames with a reverent smile. Eames’s response is to pull out and all the way back in, making Arthur scream.

“Ride me,” Eames orders, and Arthur does, slowly at first and gasping with each movement, and then faster and more assured. He’s beautiful and wonderful and the speed builds to a crescendo and they come together, crying out so loud that every other whore in the place must hear them. Arthur collapses onto Eames as they both suck in the air, trying to catch their breath.

“I’m not sure if I’ve fucked someone twice in so short a time since I was a teenager,” Eames says, smiling into Arthur’s hair.

“I suppose I’m just that attractive,” Arthur says, lifting his head and smirking.

“Yes,” Eames says simply, and Arthur’s smirk falls to be replaced by something softer and sweeter. Eames lifts a hand to gently stroke Arthur’s lips, and receives a kiss to his fingers. Arthur pauses and then touches his own fingers to Eames’s lips, and without hesitation Eames kisses them.

They gaze at one another but the moment is broken when a small bell near the door rings, the sign that Eames’s time with Arthur is coming to an end.

“Let me clean you, Sir Eames,” Arthur says, and when he does it is gentle and tender. By the time he is done, Eames is relaxed and refreshed, though his desire to stay has only grown. 

“Shall I return the favour?” Eames asks, reaching for the cloth, but Arthur shakes his head. 

“Best not, Sir. You should go; I need to prepare for my next customer.”

The thought of Arthur with another man makes Eames’s stomach tighten, and he is still feeling out of sorts as he heads for the stairs. 

And so it is that he arrives downstairs just in time to run into Cobb. Eames gives him a brittle smile but all Cobb can summon is a look of dismay.

"I wasn't seeing a – a-" Cobb falters.

“A whore?”

Cobb winces and nods. "I have business with the proprietor."

"Well, I _was_ seeing a whore," Eames says, annoyed at Cobb's prudishness. "And I know about you and Mal. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," Cobb says quickly, then looks at Eames with and expression that makes it clear that he is curious but knows he is more than likely to regret asking. "You were with a whore? A – a man?"

"Yes," Eames says, taking his cloak from the peg and throwing it over his shoulders. Even so he winces at the biting cold as they step out into the night. "A pretty little thing with a tight hole and a talented mouth."

The vulgar words stop any further questions, but the deep furrow between Cobb’s brows show that he is deep in thought. Cobb knows that Eames prefers men – for all his faults he is observant and quickly picked up on the fact that Eames and his great-uncle have things in common. It’s one of the many irritating things about the man.

By the time he speaks again they are almost at the castle and Eames wishes he could have taken just a little longer with his thoughts.

"Do you get satisfaction from that? From sleeping with a stranger?"

“He’s not a stranger; I’ve been seeing him for weeks.”

“So you care for him?”

Cobb’s question comes so easily that Eames answers without thinking. “Of course I do.” _Oh._ Not something that he had planned on announcing to the world but Cobb always has a way of extracting things that should remain secret.

"But he's a - gentleman of the night," Cobb says. "Surely he's just showing you what you want to see."

And that is of course the thing that bothers Eames most, a doubt lurking away under his thoughts. Arthur seems genuine and his affection for Eames honest. But is it? Is it all just a ruse, a forgery? There’s no way for him to know and he hates Cobb just a little more for pointing it out.

"You know how well I can read people," Eames says. "I can read a whore just as well as I can read a warrior."

Cobb looks at him dubiously as they pass under the great stone gate. "I'm sure you know best."

His condescension puts Eames's teeth on edge but as soon as they are in the castle Cobb heads straight to his tower and Eames to his own. It's too late to stop the doubts that creep into Eames's thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

When Lord Fischer asked Eames to journey to the nearest castle on the first day of winter, Eames had thought it typical of his lord’s sense of humour.

Ten days later and the weather is even worse for the return journey, a blizzard so thick that Eames can just make out the outline of the horse in front of him; the gray palfrey of his squire is little more than a ghost behind. The rest of the convoy could be miles away for all Eames can tell. Only the brightly coloured markers at the side of the road show them their way home.

The snow has been falling since they left the castle in Winchester and it has not stopped. It has already stretched a two-day journey in to three, and if the blizzard worsens they will need to spend a fourth night on the road.

Eames mutters a prayer to the gods to let them get home today. He is sick of the road and he aches for home. Moreover he aches for Arthur. The last week has been full of politics and courtesy and there has hardly been a moment to think of anything but how to answer Lord Nolan’s questions without offending him or putting Lord Fischer in a bad light. Now this long journey has given him plenty of time to dwell on Cobb’s words: is Arthur only showing Eames what he wants to see? Is his affection nothing more than an illusion?

After twelve nights with nothing more than his hand to please him, Eames has decided that he cannot let his doubts overwhelm him. Even if Cobb is right and Arthur is playing him false, that doesn't make fucking him feel any less wonderful. Besides, Eames thinks with a crooked smile, he has never listened to Cobb's advice before, why should he start now?

"Look, Sir Eames!" The voice of Eames’s squire rouses him from his thoughts and he looks over. When she was younger, Ari used to pretend she was a boy - not that she ever fooled Eames. He took her in as a squire not caring that she was a girl: she is smart and quick and brave, and that is all he cares about. Even in Lord Fischer’s court there are murmurs now that she cannot hide the curve of her breasts and hips, but they are happy with each other and that is enough for both of them.

She is pointing ahead, and the slowing snowfall reveals the dark hulk of Vilkas's walls in the distance. A cheer goes up amongst the men, and Eames smiles. Thank the gods that they won't have to camp out here overnight.

The convoy moves more quickly with home in sight, the mood buoyed by the good news.

Despite the snow, Eames's palfrey is sure footed and she bears the weather with equanimity. He strokes her neck gently, wishes he could feel her warmth through his thick gloves; the cold has no problem getting through.

They cover the last miles in quiet relief, a hushed burble of conversation rising between them.

Eames listens half-heartedly. They're discussing what they're going to do when they get back and Eames doesn't feel much like sharing his own plans. Though he is exhausted and sore, as soon as he has given his report to Cobb, he is going to see Arthur.

The remainder of the journey creeps by painfully slowly but finally, _finally_ they pass through the gate.

When they arrive at the castle, Eames hands his mount over to a stableboy, patting her flank fondly.

"Give her a treat," he says. "She deserves it, don't you darling?"

The stableboy gives an awkward bow and leads her away. Eames thinks about going straight to Cobb, but bugger it. He's aching and he's tired, and he wants a bath. It'll mean an extra half hour before going to the brothel but he's sure Arthur will appreciate the effort.

"Ari," he calls out, and she comes over with a bright smile, as happy to be home as he is. "Fill my bath and bring me some mulled wine. Once you've done that the rest of the day is yours."

She nods, delighted at the thought of some free time, and runs about her tasks.

The hot water warms his body and the wine his insides, and by the time he is finished with his bath he doesn't want to see Cobb at all, though he is eager for both Arthur and his bed. Arthur first, he decides. Then preferably bed _with_ Arthur.

Eames finds Cobb in his solar, looking out at the snow. With only a glance behind him, he gestures for Eames to take a seat and turns back to the window. Since Cobb is intent on the whirling whiteness outside, Eames takes the best seat, comfortable and plush and right beside the roaring fire. There’s a mug of wine beside it and Eames helps himself to that as well. 

"You got back just in time," Cobb says, gesturing out the window.

"Not really," Eames says. "We got caught in the storm before it got here."

A moment of silence stretches uncomfortably.

"What do you have to report?"

"Winchester is well ready for winter with stores enough for all. Lord Nolan expressed pleasure to hear of Lord Fischer's similar preparations."

"I'm sure," Cobb says with thin lipped humour.

"The bloody man kept me there for seven days, Cobb,” Eames says, unable to keep from whining after so long of being polite and political. “It was excruciating. Seven days of thinly veiled insults and constant querying. Lord Nolan told me nothing and asked everything. But when I asked the smallfolk I started to get answers."

Cobb finally sits down, studying Eames’s face as though he will find those answers there. "As long as you did it without offending Lord Nolan."

"Of course I did," Eames says sharply. He’s been annoyed and frustrated for days and has little patience for Cobb’s condescension. "I grew up spending every summer in the City of the Crown. Politics are a way of life down there. It's the whole reason Lord Fischer chose me to go to Winchester in the first place."

"Of course, please go on."

"The people in the town hadn’t seen anything, and when I went to the villages outside the walls, mostly their stories were the same. Not even the usual beasts of the woods - like us, they mentioned how unusual that was. But one village had heard things. Cries that split the night in two. A wolf howl with words in it."

Cobb looks at Eames for a long time then stands and returns to his window with his back to Eames.

"That sounds like your uncle’s tales, Sir Eames."

Eames takes in a deep, calming breath before replying, and reminds himself that as soon as he is done here, he can go to see Arthur. "I'm only relaying the tales of the villagers."

"Sir Robert returned from our villages with a similar story. There was more, too. Our villages are nearer to the forest, not separated by the river as Winchester is. They didn’t just hear these creatures – they saw them as well. Always in the dark, but their eyes were visible between the trees. Eyes like wolves, but at the height of men."

Eames sits upright and stares at Cobb. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know. I'll take your stories to Lord Fischer and I'll call a meeting if anything is decided."

Cobb falls silent and Eames takes it as a dismissal, creeping out before he can say otherwise.

Returning to his room he throws the thick fur cloak over his shoulders and heads outside. The blizzard has gained strength again but if it isn't going to stop Eames from seeing Arthur. The need to touch him is like burning hunger, something hot and empty and aching. Something that can only be sated with Arthur's touch.

There are few people outside in this weather. Those that brave the storm lurch out of the snow like attackers before scurrying off back into the white.

With low visibility and thick snow underfoot, it takes Eames longer than usual to get to Mal's place.

It's empty when he gets there, not even anyone to take his coin. He briefly considers going up anyway but it wouldn't do to have Mal angry with him. Hanging his cloak, he goes to the bar and rings the bell.

It takes a while for someone to appear, and when they do Eames is pleasantly surprised.

Before Arthur arrived, Eames visited most of Mal's boys but he still had his favourite, and now that man stands before him. Slim, his pretty face is framed by dark curls, and his eyes are always sad, even when he is happy.

"Hello, Jon," he says, and Jon smiles at him, leaning on the bar.

"Sir Eames," Jon says. "It's been too long since you visited me."

"I'm sorry, Jon. I'm afraid I've become enchanted by another."

"Arthur," Jon says, and gives a secretive smile. "He's somewhat enchanted by you as well."

"Really?" Eames leans forward, curious; he’s never thought of the boys here talking to one another, but of course they must. Now that he knows he is full of questions. "And what has he told you of me?"

"I'm not about to spill all his secrets, Sir Eames, not even for you," Jon says with a chuckle. “Isn’t enough to know he cares for you?”

“Yes,” Eames says, and means it. He trusts Jon’s word far more than Cobb’s opinions – and after all, Jon has no reason to lie.

“Well, he’s available. We’re all available, what with this blizzard,” he adds and Eames does not miss the suggestion in his smile.

Laughing, Eames tugs on one of Jon’s corkscrew curls, pulls it taut and then watches it spring back into shape. “Are you suggesting that you might like to join us?”

“I might be. I was never able to fit your cock all the way inside me. Arthur says about how wonderful it feels, and I’d like to try again. " 

“Not today, Jon, though I’ll keep your offer in mind for the future.”

As he pays Jon, Eames thinks how enjoyable that would be – to have both of them pleasuring him. Or perhaps to have them pleasuring each other; Jon on his hands and knees while Arthur fucks him hard and fast.

He licks his lips and races up the stairs, pushing into Arthur’s room without bothering to knock. Arthur turns in surprise and then gives a wide smile that shows off his dimples.

“Sir Eames, I-“

“Give me the oil and get your clothes off,” Eames says, tearing off his own clothes in his haste.

Arthur’s smile turns filthy and he nods. “Yes, Sir,” he says, and grabs the far of oil from the nightstand before slipping quickly out of his own clothes.

After taking the oil from him, Eames bends him over the footboard of the bed, so that his lovely pale arse is in the air. He bites one firm cheek, hears Arthur gasp and does it again, hard enough to leave a mark. He pulls away to admire his handiwork while coating his fingers in oil, then works Arthur open until he is writhing on the bed under Eames’s touch with four fingers stretching him.

“Sir Eames,” he gasps, breathless, both hands bunched in the sheets. “Oh gods, please fuck me. I’ve been deprived of you for two weeks, you can’t deny me.”

“I could,” Eames says, lie though it is. “I could just leave you here like this, slick and stretched and desperate.”

“You couldn’t,” Arthur says, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “I can see how much you want me,” he says and reaches for Eames’s dripping cock. Before his hand gets there, Eames pushes him back to the bed and holds him down.

“What I want is to make you scream,” Eames says. “To make you forget every other man you’ve had inside you. I want you to think of me and only me.”

“I always do. Even when other men are fucking me, all I can think of is you.”

The words are like a switch and Eames growls, pulling his hand away. He has just enough conscious thought left to slick him cock in oil before pushing all the way inside.

“Mine,” Eames growls, setting up a brutal pace and fucking in hard with each snap of his hips.

“Yours,” Arthur says, the word a promise on his lips, and those are the last intelligible words either of them say. Arthur is hot and tight, and Eames fits perfectly inside him, all of him, every inch to the hilt. His hips slap against Arthur’s arse, and this angle is divine, each thrust making him want more, want to fuck Arthur always.

Arthur is gasping, shivering, pushing back against Eames with every thrust. And then his arse tightens around Eames as he comes without a touch to his cock, sobbing and crying out. Eames is almost out of his mind with pleasure and he wants to keep fucking Arthur, to come, to make Arthur come again, he wants _everything_.

Growling, he continues to fuck Arthur hard, making him whimper with each thrust.

And then Eames comes, vision whiting out like a snow storm, and he collapses on top of Arthur.

Eventually Eames rouses himself and pushes up from Arthur, who looks over his shoulder. Damp hair sticks to his forehead and he looks exhausted, but his grin is real and mischievous. “I missed you too, Sir Eames.”

Eames laughs, hoarse and deep and real, and his heart aches with just how much he has missed Arthur. He pulls away, his cock slipping out of Arthur, who whines at the loss.

“Come,” Eames says, and takes his hand, leading him to the bed. He slides two fingers into Arthur so that he doesn’t feel as empty, and with a contented sigh Arthur curls up to him. They lie together and Eames feels the stress of the last twelve days ebb away.

“I missed you so much,” Arthur murmurs, tracing circles on Eames’s chest. “Every day, I kept hoping that you would return, and every day I was disappointed.”

“I’m here now.”

“But your visits will still be rare,” Arthur says, pushing himself onto an elbow and frowning at him. “You are busy with work. Mal told me about the non-stop schedule Sir Cobb has put you on. She had quite a few words to say on the matter.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“I think you spoiled me by visiting so often in those first few weeks,” Arthur says, slumping back to the bed with a sigh.

“I did,” Eames says, and kisses Arthur’s shoulder. “I spoiled myself as well.”

“Then I suppose we will miss one another.” 

“You could write to me,” Eames suggests, and Arthur looks at him, clearly confused.

“Write to you?”

“Mal and Cobb have a messenger boy running from here to the castle every day – at least once a day. Give him a message for me when you miss me, and I’ll write back.”

Arthur starts to smile, and then laughs softly. “I can’t let Mal know or she’ll start charging you for that as well.”

Eames cocks his head, the mention of payment making him unsure. “I will pay you directly for it, if you want.”

“I don’t want paying for it,” Arthur says, frowning and touching Eames’s cheek. “I want to do this because I want to be with you.” His eyes widen as though he did not mean to say that, but the words make Eames’s heart swell, and he kisses Arthur’s forehead. 

“I’m sure you can come up with something,” is all he says, sensing that dwelling on this will go badly. “You seem like a resourceful man.”

Arthur truly smiles now, a smile like Eames has not seen before. It is sharp and smart, and if he wasn’t so thoroughly spent he is sure that his cock would start to harden; it’s one of the most attractive things he has ever seen. Somehow it feels like a veil has fallen away and he is seeing Arthur as he really, truly is for the first time.

“I’ll think of something,” Arthur says, and straddles Eames, his dark hair falling over his shoulders. “And what would you like me to say in these letters? How much I miss having your cock inside me – how empty I feel without it? Or perhaps how much I miss tasting you-“

“Darling,” Eames says, lifting a hand to comb through Arthur’s hair. “You can write about anything you like, but if you wish to give me material that I will need to be alone to read, then I will not refuse it.”

“I am sure I will come up with something ”

===

Five days later Eames has a pile of letters in his room, with another freshly delivered, its wax seal intact. He closes the door to his chambers and casts off his cloak. He has told his men that he is taking a break and that he doesn’t wish to be interrupted. Breaking open the seal, Eames slides out the letter and sits at his desk to read.

_Sir Eames;_

_Your ideas about involving Jon were rather interesting – I especially liked reading just what you would like me to do to him. I wouldn’t mind sharing you with Jon, but only for a night or two, and only as long as I get to fuck him as well._

_I hear that Jon was your favourite before I arrived but that you still saw others. I must confess: knowing that you are mine alone makes me smile. It also makes me hard._

_I want you inside me, Sir. I want your fingers, your cock, I want to feel your seed running down my thighs. And I want to taste you, I want your cock choking me, and I want to feel your seed on my lips, my cheeks, in my hair._

_Please, Sir Eames, say you’ll return soon._

_Yours,  
Arthur_

Eames is hard in his trews and after a moment of indecision, he unties them and draws out his cock. Rereading the words as he starts to stroke himself, wishing Arthur were here in his own chambers, where he could tie him to his bed and keep him there.

The thought sets his imagination flowing and he closes his eyes, picturing Arthur tied to the bed and giving him a cocky grin, just daring Eames to take him. And Eames would not disappoint. He would bend him in half so that he could barely move, fuck him hard until he yelped with every thrust.

And Arthur would love it. He would beg for more, whispers hoarse and ragged from crying out, he’d pull against his restraints but not want to be free. And then Eames would shush him with a kiss, a kiss that would be returned eagerly.

Crying out, Eames shivers through his climax, the fantasy shattering under the force of it.

Slumping in his chair, Eames closes his eyes, smiling and feeling that all is right with the world. This letter exchange may be the best idea he has ever had; it alleviates the need, a little, makes it more bearable. From Arthur's words it seems like it is the same for him also.

Touching the letter, feeling the words under his fingertips, Eames still feels a shiver of doubt, damn Cobb. Yet why would Arthur write these words if he did not mean them? If he only wanted Eames as a customer, he would have asked for payment. 

_He said he wanted to be with you._

With a sigh, Eames stretches and gazes out of the window. He doesn't like this introspection, or this doubt. He is a man of the court, and more than used to intrigue and backstabbing, to whispers that spread across the castle like a tide. He even likes it, likes to unravel the lies and even spread a few of his own. But when it comes to Arthur he can only scowl and gaze at his letter in frustration. Perhaps because this time his own heart is in the balance.

Folding up the letter, Eames puts it with the others and cleans himself up. There is only so long he can take a break before someone comes looking for him. 

Throwing his cloak over his shoulders once more, Eames gives his reflection a rakish smile.

"You're a fool, Sir Eames," he says. "Let us hope that Arthur is as well."

Making his way down cold hallways back to his post, he sees Sir Robert gazing out of a window with a frown. Eames slows his steps. He likes Sir Robert. Sometimes he can be prickly and arrogant, but Eames sees the frightened boy beneath. Having Lord Fischer for a father cannot have been easy. Besides, the two of them have drunkenly found themselves in bed together more than once, and that secret has woven a closeness between them.

"Good afternoon, Sir Robert," Eames calls, and when Robert looks over his frown melts into a smile, just for a moment.

"Sir Eames," he says, bowing his head in greeting.

"You look so gloomy, Sir," Eames says, half-teasing. "Has your lord father received more foretellings of doom?"

"Yes," Robert says with a sigh, then glances around at the empty hallway and steps closer to Eames. With lowered voice he continues. "The mages have brought him new prophecies of danger, more urgent; and more news comes in from the villages about huge wolves that hide between the trees like they are planning something, seen only by the flash of their eyes."

"You think these wolves are the focus of the prophecy?"

Robert inclines his head. "I read your great-uncle's book, Sir Eames. His tales of man-wolves are most convincing."

Eames feels certainty growing in him, and a trickle of fear. The man-wolves in those tales are dangerous beyond measure, and his uncle had died before telling of how they could be defeated. 

"But there is more," Sir Robert says, leaning against the window ledge and folding his arms. He is so serious for such a young man that Eames has to fight down a smile. When he first arrived in Vilkas, Robert had been but a teenager, and every bit as serious as he is now. Eames suspects he was serious since as a baby.

"Then tell me, Sir Robert."

"Some men came from the City of the Crown," he says. "Lead by Lord Carruthers. Do you know him?"

Eames frowns and nods. He does indeed. Lord Carruthers is an advisor to the king, though his advice is self-serving at best.

"He has asked us to send men south to help in the fight against the rebellion."

"Has he forgotten why we are here? Has it really been so long since the North of North attacked that men have forgotten why we are here?"

"That is what my lord father said, at least at first. But then Lord Carruthers mentioned that Lord Nolan has pledged two hundred men."

Eames winces. “And then Lord Fischer promised to do the same?”

“Two hundred and one,” Robert says with a wry smile.

“Two hundred and one men going south while we are surrounded by danger,” Eames says and shakes his head. He knows better than to think that Lord Fischer will come to his senses; once the man has made a decision, he will never go back on it. He sees it as a sign of weakness.

Eames moves to the window to stand beside Robert. 

"I do not want to go south," he says quietly. "I do not want to leave Vilkas."

Robert gives him a surprised glance. "Will you defy my lord father?"

"No," Eames says, and clenches his jaw. "But I don't have to like it."

"I would like to go," Robert says. "Perhaps it might finally make my lord father proud."

Eames looks at him and sees him gazing out at the snow with wistfulness filling his eyes. He draws his arm across Robert's shoulders.

"You need to worry less about what your father wants and more about what is right for you."

"I want to be worthy of being made knight," Robert says, and he turns into Eames's touch a little. It makes Eames's heart pang for Arthur but he doesn't move away. Robert gets little enough affection; Eames can give him this.

"Do you really think that Lord Fischer would have knighted you if he did not think you worthy?"

"He might have found me the most worthy of the choices he had, but that is not the same thing."

Eames nods and squeezes Robert's shoulder. He knows how it feels to be a disappointment to one's father.

They stand there and stare at the snow, their destinies dependent on their lord’s choice.


End file.
